The Edge
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: For someone born with a Chromatus, the ultimate power, Rideaux has never had much control over his own life. Bisley Bakur has dictated the conditions for his survival for seventeen years—and now, he is the cause of his demise. But as Rideaux lies bleeding, he finds he has a slim chance for revenge… M for language and dark themes. I do not own Tales of Xillia or the cover art!


_**Author's Note: **__Tales of Xillia 2 royally ticked me off with their lack of closure. We fight and vanquish Rideaux, and we see him get dragged off, and we see his bridge being built—but he's never even mentioned after that point, nor is his death acknowledged… so this is my attempt to lay his twisted soul to rest._

* * *

There are some who think living on the edge makes life that much more exciting. But Rideaux knows all too well how sharp some edges can be, as he stares at the blood coating Bakur's spear. _His _blood.

He swallows, oddly dryly, and opens his mouth to say something, but the world spins and scatters his thoughts like ashes. Rideaux staggers, his hands flying up automatically to clutch the ragged gash in his torso. Burning pain shoots through the wound, and he grits his teeth, inhaling sharply, doubled over with only his arms holding in his guts. _Fuck_, that hurt.

And Bakur is just standing there, watching him, a sadistically satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. It's too bad Rideaux has never played well as the masochist, or this moment would be the makings of some perverted fantasy, its climax with his death. It might not be so bad, he thinks, if the boss hadn't let him have his body—his Chromatus—back again, giving him the illusion of a fair chance, before destroying it like this.

Rideaux supposes, with a humorless laugh that quickly becomes a cough, that it had been too much to hope for to be decapitated or even to let his artificial systems shut down—as they had already started doing by the time they reached the harbor, before they were rebooted again in preparation for their own slaughter. Frankly, he's surprised Bakur is patient enough to wait for him to bleed out. Isn't he in a hurry, or something?

It probably has something to do with the whiny little bitch hiding behind him, he realizes, his eyes sliding over to the Key. Perhaps he decided cutting off his head would be too disturbing for her; gutting him would be so much more _humane_. He leers at her, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth, and the girl is too scared even to look away. She only stares at him, wide eyes brimming with overflowing tears, and clings to Bakur's side as though he might protect her from the harm he has wrought.

"You see, Key of Kresnik?" asks Rideaux, but the words feel sharp in his throat and he retches, spattering dark, sticky crimson onto the cobblestones. Why does there have to be so much goddamn _blood_? "This is what he'll do to you, too, sweetheart," he growls, panting. "You're just a catalyst… and catalysts must be eliminated."

Rideaux grimaces, his knees giving way suddenly, and he kneels hard. Bakur is wasting precious time for the sake of watching him suffer, and suffer he certainly is. Had he at least managed to sever his spinal column, maybe he'd have been rendered unconscious—maybe he'd have been paralyzed—maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have to deal with this infernal _pain_.

Rideaux closes his eyes exhaustedly and falls forward, catching himself weakly by the hands; through his torn shirt, his wound is open to the stinging air. He cannot suppress an agonized yelp, curling his fingers automatically and wincing as his nails scrape the stone: his life spills out thicker and faster from the now-uncovered gash. Rideaux's heart pumps valiantly in an attempt to keep itself alive just a few moments longer, ironically wearing itself out far faster—bringing its inevitable stillness closer and closer to reality.

Well, that's fine by him. The sooner he leaves this miserable life behind, the better. He reaches a shaking hand toward one of his discarded knives and picks it up cautiously, examining it, vision flickering; this, then, is what a last resort truly is. Rideaux raises the edge of the blade towards his own throat, fingers trembling, and looks up at an impassive Bakur as if in challenge.

…He can't do it. He's never been able to do it.

Rideaux's eyes slide down to the Key, who still stares, partially exposed, and he smiles spasmodically. He can't kill himself. But he can sure as hell kill the girl. He has one shot, he tells himself, his slowing heartbeat more and more painful with every pulse—

He closes his eyes, deliberating with what little time he has left. Should he bury a blade in her heart, or her throat? Either one would throw a wrench in Bakur's plans. The angle's wrong, or he'd stick one where the sun don't shine; from the looks of things, the world's fucked her already, just as it did him when he was younger still. And what's another knife to the misfortune already forced on her?

Rideaux grins and flings his weapon suddenly at her forehead before finally allowing himself to collapse, knowing that he will not get up again. He has one chance to ruin it all for Bakur, to spare himself from dying a meaningless death. If Rideaux has to die, he's taking all of humanity with him, throwing the Trial in favor of the spirits; perhaps _they_ will guide the blade…

He knows he has failed when he hears it clatter to the ground, undoubtedly knocked out of the way—but feels only a peculiar kind of emptiness welling up inside him. So this is what death is like. "I was curious about how a man so unscrupulous as you would face your own death, given a chance for survival," he growls, walking over to Rideaux, and the tip of the lance touches his throat, almost caresses it. "And now I know."

"Kill me," he whispers defeatedly, as close to a plea as he ever lets himself utter, and closes his tired eyes. And then the world goes dark and Rideaux is gone, the last remnant of his consciousness thinking wryly that hell will be better than the life he's lived—and looking very much forward to his reunion with Bakur.


End file.
